


there's no such thing as sweeter a sting

by manhattan



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Genin Era, Post-Chapter 699 (Naruto), Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Romance, SasuSaku Month 2017, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/pseuds/manhattan
Summary: Sasuke, Sakura, and different ways they can be perceived.At the age of twelve, Sakura dreamt of marriage bells, Sasuke’s eyes, and their hands intertwined.





	1. first love

**Author's Note:**

> got off my ass and decided to edit the things i wrote for sasu/saku month 2017. each chapter (i.e. prompt) was originally posted on my writing tumblr. be warned that though i've rated this fic for 'teens and up', there is the possibility that some chapters will beseech a higher rating, so **please be on the lookout for warnings in the notes**.
> 
> honestly, i still hope to finish all the prompts one day. in any case, enjoy!

At the age of twelve, Sakura dreamt of marriage bells, Sasuke’s eyes, and their hands intertwined. It had been easy, then, to sweeten her smile and curl an arm around his. It had been easy to bounce back from constant and biting rejection, all the while balancing fears that turned out to come true. And Sakura hasn't been twelve in a while, but those memories are still crystal clear. She does not need the sharingan to remember the peach color of the sky above them, to feel the humidity of those summers’ dusk, to hear Sasuke’s low voice as he insulted Naruto over something or other. How her arms pimpled with goosebumps when they were close enough to touch; how her heart caught when they never did.

She loved him so.

She loved him enough to still remember every facet of a boy who does not exist anymore. She loved him enough to still love him today, even as he unsheathes a sword or the red glare of his eyes—

Despite the hurt, Sakura does not dwell on that.

It is easier to remember him as her first love. To ignore he may very well be the only one, even if her mother believes the contrary.

“A girl never forgets her first love,” Mebuki said once, combing through Sakura’s hair with her fingers.

The smell of brick dust and Sai’s ink was still mixed with her strawberry shampoo, even though they'd returned from Sound days before. Sasuke had been so close, close enough to touch.

Sakura did not reply to her mother then. She looked at the fluttering curtains of her bedroom and waited.

“It's not like your father was my first love, you know,” Mebuki went on. And Sakura knows how this story goes, but she still waited. “But he was the right one.”

At the time, anger and bitterness inflamed her, and she thought: _but Sasuke isn't the wrong one_.

Now Sakura rubs the knot in her neck, imagining a calloused palm closing around it. Mebuki hasn't seen the bruises; Sakura made sure to heal those before coming home.

Mebuki hasn't seen the bruises, but she must see something else.

“It's enough,” her mother says, and her silverware clatters against a half-empty plate.

“You're full already?” Kizashi asks, surprised.

“Kaa-san,” Sakura warns.

“It's _enough,_ ” Mebuki repeats. “I am tired of watching you go out on the field with your heart in your hands, only to come back with it more broken than before. This will not mend, Sakura. Not unless you get it through your head that—”

It is the first time she leaves the house without a word of goodbye.

* * *

The war comes to a climax, and all she can think about is damp paper, weighing heavy in her pocket. The smell of dirt and disinfectant, a shy, bandaged smile, and how it was the first time she’d been confessed to.

“Ah, well,” the boy had said, “if it’s someone you like, then …”

He was wrong, of course.

Sasuke is not a great person. He used to be, when missions didn't end in murder and intimidation, when a runaway cat was the only enemy they had to face. He was great then, cool-headed and smooth, even though the indignity of running after a pet made him embarrassed. 

Sakura knew this because she knew _him_. She made it her business to; teammates or not, Sasuke was still the apple of everyone's eye. But she knew him, and that was more than any other girl could say.

Well. He is still great, in his own way. Still a great fighter. A great threat. A great reminder she should take her mother's advice and move on with her life.

She thinks of finding that boy, of learning his name and his hobbies, whether he likes sweet things, or does he prefer spicy flavors? Has he got a favorite author, or is he more interested in paintings? Does he think he could ever love a girl obsessed with a memory, or does he know she will never be his to keep?

The letter weighs in her breast pocket like an anchor. Sakura stays above the water, but does not know how.

* * *

“You waited for a long time,” Sasuke says.

He doesn't find it in him to look in her eyes. Instead, he keeps his gaze on the hospital ceiling, like he did years before.

Sakura doesn't bring him into a hug, this time. She wishes she could find the guts to, but all that there is available is dry, stale anxiety. Naruto’s occasional snores help, but not enough.

She nods instead, and pretends to analyze Naruto’s slumped shape, halfway into falling off his chair.

“I'm sorry,” Sasuke says.

At least this part of him hasn't changed—Sasuke still doesn't say what he wants to. Or what Sakura wants to hear.

“Sasuke-kun,” she says, unmoving, “you don't have to.”

A heart too big for a girl so small, Mebuki used to say, back when Sakura wasn't a top-tier bounty in bingo books. Maybe her mother still thinks so, but there haven't been many opportunities to say it aloud.

Sasuke looks at Sakura. The ends of his hair are split and lie limp against his shoulder. She is overcome with the need to brush those strands of hair behind his ear. 

Even tired and healing, Sasuke notices the flinch of her hand, and his eyes stay there for a long time.

“You need a haircut,” Sakura says, a little out of breath. An explanation masking a distraction.

“Will you do it?” Sasuke asks, unaware of all the times Sakura wished she could run her hands through his hair.

She had so loved how it stood at the end. Sasuke had never been the sort to use hair gels, or cologne, or anything other than the absolutely necessary. She supposes he still isn't.

“Oh, um,” she mutters.

The boy he once was would never ask her that. Sakura once knew enough about Sasuke to write a book about him. Now she writes reports about his physical status and his abilities, and she doesn't know him at all. Nor does she know what to reply. But it matters not; Naruto slips off his chair, and hits the ground with a confused yell.

Sasuke looks outside again, and Sakura gets up to help Naruto to his feet.

The moment, if it was even that, is clipped, abrupt like the snip of a closing scissor. But it lingers. Oh, it lingers.

* * *

The first time Sasuke kisses her, Sakura realizes he is no longer her first love.

Her first love was an aloof boy whose darkness could not be contained; a boy who brushed her off as easy as a mosquito in the summer; a boy who would never even admit to looking at her. And that boy is gone, she realizes, when Sasuke keeps his gaze on her without shame, when Sasuke’s fingers pad at her forehead, when Sasuke’s leaning into her without a grimace or a scowl.

There was a clean break somewhere, somehow.

Sasuke stopped being a rose-colored memory when he chose the cold hue of revenge, and Sakura reacted accordingly. Peace is more important than holding onto the past, and they both know they would've killed one another if given the chance. But the dust settles. Konoha is reborn. And if Sasuke is someone else now, then so is Sakura.

He kisses her, now. She lets him, wondering if she is his first love, if it began before or only after his revenge was quelled, if it even matters. When they part, her face is warm, and Sasuke’s eyes are bare and clear.

Numbers are just numbers, Sakura realizes, and she doesn't care about being the first as much as she cares about being the last.

So she smiles through the mist in her eyes, and kisses him again.


	2. something more

Sasuke is no stranger to affection.

It's easy to forget that, now that the Uchiha clan is buried in a deserted cemetery, but there was a time when Sasuke did not shy away from the warm touch of a hand, or the fleeting softness of a kiss, or the sharp poke of two callused fingers.

No one touches Sasuke now. Not in the real sense of the word, at least; the bruises on his shins and elbows are proof that he does not lack physical contact. But beating Naruto into the ground does not fan the flame growing ever smaller inside Sasuke’s chest.  No, if there is even a flicker of heat, it is because his Team refuses to let it die down. Sasuke wishes he knew what to do with this knowledge—he refuses to admit that their advances are not as useless as he shows. But he does not know how to lie to himself.

Sometimes, Kakashi will set a hand on Sasuke’s head (usually while his other is on Naruto’s), and Sasuke will think of Fugaku without fail. Of his father’s large hand as it ruffled Sasuke’s fringe into a mess of dark hair. Of his father's controlled penmanship, even as the characters grew bold and black on the paper scrolls. Of the intimidatingly-pressed hand against Sasuke’s back when they were required to attend ceremonies.

Other times, Naruto will wrap one arm around Sasuke’s shoulders; usually one that tightens, a grip meant to annoy, but it is a warm thing all the same. That reminds Sasuke of how he clung onto Itachi’s shoulders as his brother carried him through rice fields. Of how Itachi never complained about hugs, even if Sasuke knew he didn't like being touched by other people. Of how Itachi smiled before he set out to kill—

Naruto is dangerous. He brings back things that leave Sasuke burning bright and hot, a consuming fire that only leaves ash. So Sasuke learns, early on, to avoid Naruto’s trickster gestures.

But, more often than not, he is open to Sakura's arms, how they wrap around his and bring him in closer. And where Mikoto had smelled of lemon and soil, Sakura smells of crushed berries and things that remind him of the color green. Where Mikoto’s hands had been callused and gentle, Sakura’s are soft but firm, betraying the strength with which she smacks Naruto around. Where Mikoto had been the press of lips against Sasuke’s forehead, Sakura is—

Sakura is dangerous, too. 

Naruto and Kakashi bring tangible scenes to Sasuke’s mind—a father, a brother, imperfect parallels—but Sakura is more herself than she is Mikoto.  It bothers him, that, but not enough that he sets off to find out why. Somehow, he knows that the answer would make her a threat, and Sasuke can't afford that. So h e learns, as he did with Naruto, to steer clear of Sakura’s hands.  But, unlike with Naruto, who Sasuke replaces with Itachi, she lingers as something more in the back of his mind. 

Sometimes, he even lets her.


	3. chemistry

Barely a girl of fifteen, and already in the motions of surpassing a living legend.

Sasuke gets the news from a masked courier (because even missing-nin fall victim to gossip) and then from the updated bingo books. He doesn't fail to notice how Konoha’s section is thicker than previous years. Not by much, though, which means Suna is lagging in proper threat production. He skips through those, because the only one who matters is the Kazekage, and finds Konoha’s finest.

The team formerly known as Team Seven is depicted at the very end. His finger slides along the edge of the page, curving Naruto’s new portrait into a caricature, and then, upon catching the next page’s, keeps it straight.

He had expected Sakura to grow bored or disillusioned with the shinobi life, he realizes, as he takes in the black-and-white drawing of her likeness. Sakura had been clever, this he remembers, but in the end she had wasted precise chakra control and genjutsu skill. In the battlefield, all he can remember is the way her eyes darkened when she cried, and the warmth of her arms as they held him.

Sakura doesn't look like she cries much anymore. Her tea-sweet gaze has been sharpened to a needle’s point, and her estimated missions’ total is enough to tell him what Sakura has become. She completely overshadows Naruto in that matter, but then again she stayed behind to reap the benefits: a master of strength, a talented medic, and an accomplished chemist.

Sasuke commits that face to memory, eyes flashing red and brief, and then closes the bingo book.

* * *

Color makes a difference.

On paper, staring at the reader, Sakura lacks so much. Ink and pen are not enough to describe what she looks like when she is staring up at him, surrounded by debris and the heat of Sound’s desert.

The green of her eyes remains the same as before, even if nothing else does. Crisp, bright seafoam amidst the cherry blossoms, looking at him like he is still the boy he once was. Looking at him like he has never left her behind. A reaction mechanism halted at the first step, despite all the other changes within her.

An intake of breath and the motion of her lips, one second after, and he knows what she is saying even without hearing it. He can almost see the pause, the vacuum before the honorific, and—

He wishes he didn’t notice. It proves he is still too weak and young. It proves attachments are as dangerous as Orochimaru made them out to be, and that basic needs do not limit themselves to nourishment and sleep.

Sasuke does not look at her again, that day. But one look is all any Uchiha needs.

* * *

He does not always dream of blood and full moons.

In his head, Sakura takes him by the hand. They are twelve again, and her hair is long and berry-scented. Naruto is nowhere to be found, though Sasuke knows, with the certainty of a dreamer, that he is off training with Kakashi.

Sakura leads him amidst the trees of their training grounds, and the sun mottles her skin with white freckles, from her wrist to the pink of her lulling hair. His belly burns just as bright, and this time he is not sure of the why, but he suspects. Confirmation comes in a new shape: when she turns, it is not a child who looks back, but a young girl with wider shoulders, a smaller forehead, a mouth that tastes of mint. The grass stains the red of her shirt when she moves, elbows pushing against the ground so she can kiss him better.

Her hand slips between the open collar of his new clothes, white and purple instead of dark blue, and she is both cool-skinned and scalding. Sasuke lets her, and notices how bright her eyes get when he can see himself in them, shirt shifting down his arms.

She smells like latex dust and chemicals, under the berry mix. He thinks of glass vials, of a serpent’s dripping mouth, of his eyes bleeding into red to take her in. Her lips open and his entire focus closes in on the movement, on the tip of her tongue as it flattens the second syllable of his name. Breathy like the breeze sifting through the leaves above them, but infinitely warmer.

His body lurches into hers, without Sasuke asking it to. 

She is a catalyst when all he needs is an inhibitor, and it is too much.~He wakes up in damp sheets, eyes wide open. The startling clarity of the ceiling tells him he has activated his sharingan without meaning to, and that might be the worst sign of all. Control is necessary for Sasuke; what does it say of him that he loses it to the ghost of a girl?

Sasuke does not always dream of blood and full moons. But perhaps it would be better if he did.

* * *

He thinks of her neck for a long time, after that fateful day on the water.

It is easier to think of how soft her skin was than how heartbroken she looked. It is easier to blame Kakashi’s interruption than it is to admit that Sasuke couldn’t bring himself to kill her. And, eventually, it’s easier to excuse his behavior as way to ensure she won't bother him again, at least outside of his head.

It doesn't happen, of course. Neither teammates nor teacher stop hounding him. Sakura is more cautious now, though, and that seafoam gives way to a darker shade Sasuke shouldn't even remember.

It is the only color in her eyes whenever he’s around. An awful, acrid reaction, considering the previous lovely mixture.

* * *

Color really makes a difference, he thinks, head swimming from the blood loss.

Sasuke remembers all of the hues in Orochimaru's petri dishes, and how they darkened upon losing effect. Sakura’s eyes are still forest-dark as she funnels chakra into their arms. Sasuke can pick out the color even through her tears, and it’s a blow stronger than any of her punches.

He tells her he’s sorry, then. A last, genuine attempt at preventing his downfall.

Sakura tells him to shut up, calls him an idiot, and cries harder. But her eyes clear up like the sky after a storm, and it’s enough for him, for now.


	4. lean on me

Step by step, they carry on through the dwindling mist.

For a girl so thin, Sakura has surprising strength. Sasuke notices it the first time she punches Naruto in the face and he goes flying across the Academy’s courtyard, but it’s not until she has to carry his weight that it really matters.

He doesn’t like it, of course. But Kakashi can barely stand on his two feet, and being carried by Naruto makes the bile rise up Sasuke’s throat, so he allows her to sneak one arm under his, and pull him to his feet.

“Tell me if it hurts, Sasuke-kun,” she says, a warbled whisper. “I-I’ll take it easy.”

Sakura’s eyes are still pink around the edges. Come morning, they’ll be swollen, and something inside him twists at the thought.

“I’m fine,” he snaps, and looks away towards the bridge’s end, towards Zabuza’s and Haku’s corpses.

Sakura doesn’t flinch, this time. He supposes she is still reeling from the shock, or perhaps she is still far too relieved to care about the way he treats her. 

Sasuke doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“She’s just glad to see you’re alive,” Kakashi says, kneeling down and touching the ground. His breath is ragged, but his eye is as sharp as ever. “You don’t need to talk to her like that.”

Sasuke tries his best to pretend he doesn’t hear. He focuses instead on the lapping of the waves, coming and going, and on Naruto’s faraway voice. He does not pay attention to Sakura’s warmth, or the smell of her shampoo, or how damp her hand feels around his wrist.

* * *

He remembers the heat of a fever; the crunch of bone; the drying blood in Sakura’s face. She smells of copper and dirt, even as he tries to angle his face away from the crook of her shoulder. It is the first time he ever sees the nape of her neck, left uncovered by choppy hair, and today it is mottled dark and purple. 

He looks at it as she argues with Naruto, and her shoulders tense when she yells.  She doesn’t look like the girl he knows, like this. She doesn’t look like the girl who carries around a mirror in her bag, like the girl who brushes her hair while Naruto and Sasuke spar in the sun. The only thing familiar about her is the warmth of her arm and the angle of her back. 

“Right, Sasuke-kun?” Sakura asks, turning to him.

They’re standing so close, like this, but she is irritated enough that she doesn’t realize. He can see every bloodied line on her face, every rainbow of bruises. He can see the pink glisten of her teeth, and the swelling of her left eye. 

Sasuke edges back his head, stomach burning, and glances at Naruto.

“Nn,” he says, because it is easier than to admit he wasn’t listening at all.

“Fine!” Naruto says, face twisted. Then it fades, and he sets a hand on his stomach. “It’s not like I don’t _wanna_ eat, or anything…”

Sakura is looking at Naruto again, a complex expression on her face. 

Sasuke’s arm tenses around her shoulder, and her hand moves around his wrist, shifts his elbow for a better position. When did she get so used to carrying his weight?

“Let’s go, then,” Sasuke says, clipped, and pulls her along towards the river.

Sakura falls in step easily, her arm a firm curve around the end of his back, and it shouldn’t feel so familiar. It shouldn’t feel so right—

He shakes his head, curse mark flaring, and keeps walking.

* * *

The moon lies amidst the darkness, a silent witness. Sakura looks washed out in the light, as pale as her hair. The rims of her eyes are painted a stronger pink.

He doesn’t let her fall forward. It would be easy to, but he supposes that would add insult to injury, and as much as Sakura is annoying, she doesn’t deserve such a degree of pettiness. So he holds her up under her arms, keeping her upright, and c rushed berries and peppermint toothpaste permeate the air. 

Sasuke imagines her sneaking out of her room after dinner, breaking curfew to sit on a bench and hold her heart in her hands. He holds her closer, and her head lolls back on his shoulder, hair brushing against his cheek.

Is she still using conditioner? He can’t tell. She smells the same, at least, and that is a comfort that shouldn’t be one. 

Her weight feels right, if too light, in his arms. Her shoulder blades dig into his chest when he maneuvers her into the closest bench, and if her mouth brushes against his jaw when he props her into the stone it is nothing but an accident. But it burns where it slides.

Sasuke lays her down. Her hair fans around her skull like a crown, and his finger brushes a lock away from her open mouth. The tears are still gleaming in her eyes, running across the fullness of her cheeks and nose, but now he puts his hands in his pockets and looks away. He has wasted enough time. 

Eyes on the deserted gates, Sasuke takes a step, and then another, until Konoha is nothing but a dot in the distance.

* * *

The desert scorches around them. 

Sakura’s skin is blistered where the acid caught her; he can feel the chakra swirling under her muscle, straining to heal but pushing into Obito, instead. Willful as always.

She is heavier, now. A neat knot of muscle and precision. But when his arm catches her, she is limp, defenseless. Trusting, he assumes, even though all that came before should defy that expectation. 

No; he overestimates himself. The sweat on her brow and the raggedness of her breath tell him it is not trust, but exhaustion. The energy in her is simply not enough to keep her straight and tense, and that is why she relaxes in his arms.

He looks at her for an eternity. Sakura’s eyes, half-lidded, roll to meet his. There is a silence full of things he wishes he could say, but knows better than to try.  _ I’m sorry,  _ or,  _ thank you _ , or,  _ me too, I—  _

Her eyes are bright, glassy, until she blinks. Sasuke wonders when the sight of him will bring anything other than tears; if it ever will.

He steadies her, but remains expressionless. This is not a good time to act on this. He wonders if he will live to do so, and decides giving her anything now would be a low blow. Not the lowest, considering everything he’s done, but still hard enough to leave a mark. And regenerating prowess notwithstanding, Sakura deserves better.

Sakura’s eyes pull away first. The rest of her does so moments later, when her mitotic regeneration works its way through her bones, her channels. She slides out of his arm with a blank expression, and her fingers touch at her healing skin. Her blunt nails scrape across the place where his hand had been, mindless of the torn skin.

_I’m_ _sorry,_ he thinks, but turns to Obito instead.

* * *

Between him and Naruto, holding them both upright, Sakura walks without difficulty. It might be the lightest she has ever felt: despite the tear tracks on her face, the smile on her face is brighter than the sun. 

Sasuke leans on her without shame, and they keep walking.


	5. thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-chapter 699. heavily inspired by the Sparrowkeet Series' twelfth chapter, an A:TLA fic by **audreyii-fic** , though somehow not like it at all.

He feels right in her arms, if a bit too light; the war has made a ghost of him. Naruto is light, too, but he can stand up straight by himself. Nevertheless, Sakura drags them both into a medical tent, water in her eyes and something bright in her lungs.

She cries, and cries, and no one is bringing her tissues, why is no one bringing her some fucking tissues already? Sasuke sighs, a smile hidden in that sound, and presses her face into his shoulder. Adrenaline and exhaustion have finally made him go no-turning-back-crazy, she figures, because Sasuke would never, ever do this where other people could see. Or at all, maybe? Sakura doesn’t know.

Sasuke says:

“Thank you.”

She cries again, this time on his shirt. She falls asleep with her head on his shoulder and her legs sprawled over Naruto, and everything is right, at that moment.

* * *

Sasuke is, and has always been, a man of gestures. His body is too fast, his reflexes too honed, and both betray what his mouth refuses to say. Sakura notices this as she’s noticed everything else about him: easily and eagerly.

Ino says:

“Back at the Academy, I thought Sasuke was more than he was. He’s still hot, like, _damn_ , but if that’s all there is to it, should you even care about him? Konoha has always had a surplus of hot guys, and you can get a nine-out-of-ten easy. And he might even smile at you more than once a month. Can you believe? Ground-breaking, I know. I mean, sure, you say I don’t get it, but trust me, I _know_ guys. There’s only so much stuff you can excuse before you get your heart broken. Just make sure you’re not imagining another layer when there isn’t one to start with. Please? Just—make sure.”

Sakura sips the rest of her tea, and waves her off. Ino frowns, a degree of worry in every line between her brows, but doesn't complain when Sakura changes the subject.

* * *

Sasuke is an occasional hand at the small of her back when they are alone. Unlike Sakura, privacy is not enough of a reason for him to reach out so easily. She accepts this, like everything else he gives her.

Naruto says:

“You should probably be more selfish, Sakura-chan! I get where you’re coming from, I really do, but that’s really stingy on the Bastard’s part! It’s like … It’s like if you’re going to Ichiraku’s and you pay for a bowl of ramen, but, when it arrives, it’s just cold broth. You know? No eggs, or meat, or anything! And you’re, like, starving, so you don’t complain, because Teuchi-san would probably get mad and take a long time making your next order, you know how he gets whenever I make a suggestion, but honestly, what even is ramen without noodles!? I get that the broth is essential, but—”

Naruto trails off eventually, one hand settling on his stomach, and asks her if she wants to go out for ramen. Sakura laughs, secretly thankful for the self-inflicted distraction, and follows him through the streets.

* * *

To see Sasuke is enough, if she is being honest. Years of staring at a fading photograph hurt more than she cares to admit, and it feels good, having him in the flesh. Shouldn’t that alone be enough? Just to _see_ him there, sitting inches away from her bent knees and folded elbows?

Kakashi says:

“I can’t say that I know how this feels; I can only suppose, and be satisfied with the way everything has turned out. But this doesn’t mean you should accept everything Sasuke does, or doesn’t. He’s had a hard life, and I know he keeps to himself. But a relationship is not a mission; it is not built on one-sided effort, nor should it feel like a task. You shouldn’t need to read underneath the underneath when it comes to the person you love. Make sure to keep that in mind.”

Sakura shifts her weight from one foot to the other, feeling sticky and uncomfortable in the Hokage’s office, and manages an unconvincing smile. Kakashi straightens in his chair, and she leaps, settling her mission report on his desk and excusing herself with a mumbled string of words.

Outside, she breathes in the summer air and focuses on the silence. After all, despite everything, there are still things Sakura doesn’t want to hear.

* * *

She loves him, and that has always been enough, even if she isn’t measuring herself anymore. But self-doubt is nothing new in her repertoire, and sometimes she falters, or doesn’t look him in the eye, or wants him to take a step for once.

Hinata says:

“When it came to Naruto-kun, it wasn’t always easy. At the beginning, I thought of giving up on him. Of admiring him from afar, and telling myself it would be enough. He was too bright for someone like me, who needed to be pushed to better myself. He pushed me a lot, back then, and I needed that. But I’m proud to say that I was the one who took all the first steps when it came to us, to, um, to being t-together. A-And it was embarrassing, and it was difficult, but I don’t regret it, even when people said I didn’t he deserve me. If I was always the one pursuing him, didn’t that mean he didn’t care for me? Well ... I’d be lying if I said I didn’t doubt myself then, but I did the only thing I could, and I kept moving forward. And I don’t regret that. I wouldn’t regret it, even if things had gone wrong.”

Sakura takes Hinata in, from the straight angle of her back to the soft smile on her glowing face, and stirs her drink with the straw. Condensation slides to pool around the base of the glass, glittering in the sun, and Sakura wipes it off with her hand.

Hinata kindly moves on, chatting about mangoes in the fruit market.

* * *

She draws the line at pulling Sasuke into a kiss. She could; she has thought, many times, about doing so. And Sakura is an altruistic woman, but she can be selfish when she wants, and this time she wants. Or maybe she is just getting a little tired of skirting around the edges, waiting for Sasuke to reel her in.

Sai says:

“I once read a book that portrayed this sort of behavior. Ino said that it was a slow-burn, and apparently that is a genre that people want to read, for some reason? In my personal opinion, it only made me feel impatient, which is not a feeling I like to associate with reading. When I asked her about it, she got frustrated at me and told me I didn’t understand women, which was unfortunate. But I still think that such generalizations are wrong; I think some women might like the slow-burn genre, just as you enjoy those gross books Kakashi reads, even if you think no one knows about it. I think some women might have gotten tired of waiting, considering it’s what they’ve been doing their whole life, and I think some women have the right to feel like this. You shouldn’t feel conflicted for not getting what you deserve.”

Sakura gapes at him, hands still glowing green. Sai smiles up at her from the hospital bed, and returns to his book. The cover is a lurid picture of an undressed woman, the binding is dark-red, and Sakura barely manages not to slap him. If only because a tiny voice at the back of her head tells her he’s right.

* * *

The gates are deserted when Sasuke leaves, the blinding lavender of dawn blanketing them both. Sakura feels out of breath, but little puffs of air burst out of her mouth somehow, as she waits. For something, for anything, please, just, _anything_ —

Sasuke says:

“I know this is not how you wanted things to go. I know you would be disappointed if I apologized, so I'll refrain. But, just as there are things you must do, there are things I must do. To ease the wound I inflicted on the world … It isn’t as if I haven’t realized how much this must hurt you. And yet … even though you know how selfish I can be, you still remain at my side. Even though I don’t deserve to ask you to do so. I … don’t expect anything from you, because I don’t want you to feel like this is something you must do. You have done too much for me already. I want to be able to repay you. I want—you deserve someone better. And … I want to be better.”

Sakura tries to find something to say, but comes up empty. Sasuke looks at her again, face shifting back to its usual apathy, and doesn’t kiss her. To do that would be too hurtful a blow, even if the lack hurts too.

She watches him leave, instead.

* * *

The gates are crowded when Sasuke returns, the blistering noon sun hurrying all the travelers passing by. Sakura waits in the shade of the sentinels’ house, stomach fluttering, and her heart clenches in her chest when Sasuke steps across the gate.

The air goes cooler, then, and the electricity in her burrows out, goosebumps following in its wake. She hasn’t forgotten how they parted.

Sasuke says:

“I’m home.”

Sakura says:

“Welcome back.”

Sasuke says:

“Thank you,” and his voice wavers.

Sakura says nothing, this time. Just takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and they walk together into the village.


	6. shelter from the rain

It had been nearly one hour since they’d been separated; the morning’s foggy skies had since thickened into a downpour.

Sasuke returned to the depths of the cave, cold hands closed around the wood to avoid shaking. It was bad enough that he was soaked to the bone, but his chakra reserves had been depleted in the skirmish and ensuing escape, leaving him as exhausted as he was freezing.

Sakura rose her eyes from her bleeding knees when he came close, lips bruised purple. To her credit, she did attempt to smile at him. If she was feeling well enough to pretend, she was feeling well enough to stay conscious.

At least, that was what he hoped.

She was supposed to have fallen back with Kakashi, but their teacher had been too busy fending off the brunt of the bandits. Naruto had followed after Kakashi instead, fighting their numbers with his own. Sasuke had no option but to cover for Sakura.

He hadn't done a very good job. When he buried his second chidori into a man’s chest, his legs gave out, and the darkness of the rain replaced the sharingan’s clarity. Sakura had already been bleeding by then, he could smell it on her, and Sasuke thought that this was it—Sasuke thought that—

Well, it didn't matter what he thought. Sakura’s hand had looped around his forearm, then, and with a burst of strength he hadn't thought her capable of, she dragged him into the river with her. His first instinct was to resist—he could not go far, nor keep himself afloat for long. But Sakura … Sometimes, he forgot she was the best strategist on their team (or maybe he made himself forget).

When had she learned water-breathing jutsu? When had she realized that the river’s rapids would either take them away from the fighting, or act as a cover for their scent and heartbeat? It had been risky, but he owed her.

“That was … good thinking,” he said, voice hoarse. It was tiring him to even talk.

Sakura smiled, eyes averting to the ground.

“T-Thanks, Sasuke-kun,” she managed, teeth chattering. Her hair was plastered to her neck, fat drops of water sliding into her clothes.

He sat down next to her and set off to start a fire. The tree branches he'd been able to collect were as wet as the two of them, but they were better than nothing. He hadn't wanted to set out too far, too exhausted to forage or to fight off another attack.

“Can you do a fire release?” he asked, piling the wood between them.

Sakura, for all her previous cleverness, only now seemed to realize Sasuke wouldn’t be able to start a fire. The thought irritated and embarrassed him, and he turned away from her, focusing on the wooden pile.

“I … I think so.” Her words were slow, and muttered through grit teeth, but she approached him all the same. “L-Like the one Iruka-sensei taught us, right?”

Sasuke couldn't remember which one Iruka-sensei had taught them, and he didn't rightly care. But he nodded all the same.

Sakura nodded back, and went through the motions. Her fingers were too cold, though, too stiff, and the flame sputtered halfway throughout her mouth. She choked, then, and doubled over.

Sasuke’s mind was a chorus of alarm bells. He grabbed at her shoulders, propping her up, and realized her face wasn't the only place she was bleeding out of.

“Idiot!” he heard himself say, livid.

Sakura didn't blush; a bad sign. She averted her gaze to the floor, releasing the seal in order to press her hands against her ribs. The fabric of her dress was as dark there as anywhere else, which was why he hadn't been able to pinpoint her injury.

“S-Sorry,” Sakura said, eyes bright.

The last thing he needed right now was for her to cry. But to have her passing out on him was not an option either. It was one thing to wait outside while she bandaged herself; it was another to have to do it himself.

“Take off your dress,” Sasuke said, and tried not to think of what those words meant outside of here and now.

Sakura raised wide eyes to his. Her face was still pale, but he had seen her skin ink many times before, and he could tell she would’ve blushed otherwise. She was more sensitive about this kind of thing—he had never seen her shed a single piece of clothing, even when they got caught in the rain and had to wring their clothes dry. … Why was he even keeping track of that, anyway?

“W-Wh—” she mumbled, eyes frantic. Her eyebrows were turning upwards, a sure sign she was halfway into crying.

“You need to bind it,” Sasuke cut in, voice hard, before she could make this more awkward than it should be. “Or do you plan to bleed out?”

The cogs in her head were turning. He could see them in the way her eyes flicked to her hand, pressing against her side, and then back to Sasuke’s eyes. She knew he was right; she was the smartest one on the team. But she was the most sentimental one, too, and maybe this situation was hard on her.

He looked at the wall, then, unwilling to maintain eye contact, and clicked his tongue. The back of his neck was warm.

“I’ll stand guard outside,” Sasuke said, getting up on unsteady feet and walking to the mouth of the cave. His knees were shaking, so he sat down and leant against the wall, listening to the rain.

The first time she got herself considerably injured, and Kakashi was nowhere in sight. Sasuke cursed their bad luck, closing his eyes and evening out his breath. Brooding, a habit he tended to fall back on, wasn’t going to help him now.

Sasuke grit his teeth and thought, instead.

If the worst came to worst, he could try to cauterize her wound with fire, but he didn’t know whether his body—or hers—could take it. Chakra exhaustion was dangerous too, but bleeding out was a faster way to die. If Kakashi could get here in time, if Sasuke bet his life on his teacher’s timing … well, they would both probably die in here.

Somehow, Sasuke found it in himself to smirk at that. Ridiculous, considering. Perhaps he was losing it.

Behind him, clothes rustled, and fell to the floor with a splattering sound. Sasuke’s eyes opened, a reflex, and met the dark skies outside. His neck was warm again, because he knew what that sound meant.

Suddenly, the sound of the storm seemed very far away. The wind died down, the rain’s roar trickled into a whisper, and all there was was the metal sound of a bag’s latch being opened; the elastic sound of bandages unrolling; Sakura’s hissing breath—

His whole body tensed. Years of discipline kept him from turning towards her, but his cold hands still closed at his sides.

It hurt, to clean a wound that was yours. He knew this from experience. Shaking fingers fumbled the gauze, made it harder than it should be. Traitorous nerves delayed the process, shifting the focus from healing to how much it hurt.

So when her breath began to stutter, Sasuke was already expecting the call.

“Sasuke-kun,” Sakura whispered, through her teeth. Even her voice felt wet, now. “I-I’m sorry, I—I need you to help me.”

With one last, calming breath, he got up. He made sure his expression didn’t betray how the heat slithered from his neck to his face, and looked at her. He was careful about it, taking in her in fast and then focusing only on the ridges of her ribs.

It wasn’t the worst cut he had ever seen. But, then again, that wasn’t fair to say. He was sure she had never gotten so badly cut, before. Why would she, when they kept her safe? When they were _supposed_ to keep her safe?

Inside him, that heat was flaring, angry and bright.

He found the gauze without looking at it. Her skin already smelled of the bitter poultry they used as on-field disinfectant, which was a relief. It was one thing to—well, it was a gooey paste, and—and his hands would have to— no. Sasuke focused, face twisting in anger.

Sakura shifted under that look, and he made the mistake to look up at her.

Under the fishnet mesh, her bra strap was a light color. He couldn’t tell which, exactly, but it had polka-dots, and Sakura’s eyes were closed tight, teeth biting at her lower lip, and he … And he focused on her stomach again, cheeks burning. He didn’t move for a second, trying to get his bearings, and then, with careful hands, pressed the gauze into the cut. Sakura tensed, from her legs to her shoulders, but she didn’t cry out.

“Y-You’re doing good,” Sasuke heard himself say, from very far away.

Sakura didn’t reply, just caught his shoulder with one tiny hand and squeezed until the water in the fabric was dripping down her wrist. Sasuke reached for the bandages despite the handicap, despite how badly his hands were shaking, and then focused only on the patch of pinkening gauze.

Sakura’s skin was rippling with goosebumps; he could see them up close when he leaned in to roll the bandage around her back. The sight made him want— He startled, then, and leaned as far back as he could, refusing to think of anything other than the end of the bandage.

Logic told him that it had only been minutes, but he felt as if he’d run a marathon as he sat back away from her, eyes on the wall. Her hand fell from his shoulder and left a cooler spot.

“T-Thank you, S-Sasuke-kun,” he heard her say between still-chattering teeth, pitiable and embarrassed.

He sympathized. It had been a long time since he’d felt so miserable. Thus Sasuke somehow managed a grunt and turned away, leaving her to finish the work herself. His clothes were a wet blanket of ice, but he felt like he’d spent the day under the sun.

There was a rustling sound, then, and Sakura approached the pile of twigs without looking at Sasuke. She was dressed again, the dress plastered against damp skin, but she looked better off for it.

The flame she spouted was weak, and smoky enough that she coughed again. This time, however, she had been expecting it, and pressed both her hands against her side as soon as she’d finished the seal.

Sasuke leant into the warmth of the rising fire, and heard her sigh in relief.

It felt good. It would’ve felt even better if he could take his shirt off to dry, but something inside him stopped him from doing so. The thought of standing bare-chested next to Sakura, knowing exactly what was under that red cheongsam—

He swallowed, and focused on the crackling of the damp wood. When he looked at her, fast and subtle, he found her hugging her knees and looking at the opposite side of the cave. Her hair was a wet curtain, keeping him from watching her face, so he stared at the fire again.

“Go to sleep,” he said, voice haggard. “I’ll keep watch.”

Sakura startled, shoulders tensing, but finally looked at him. There were faint spots of color under her eyes, the first good sign in a while.

“I-It’s okay,” she replied, looking away from him again. Her hands moved from the insides of her elbows to her shoulders, to where her mesh shirt had ended. Why did he remember that? “I can be the lookout for now. Y-You should rest, Sasuke-kun!”

The false cheer in her voice was better than the embarrassment. He weighed the options he had available, but decided he was better off doing what she said.

“Don’t mess it up,” he replied, and turned his back to the fire, feeling the heat spread across the damp fabric of his shirt.

“I won’t.” Her voice was soft, soft enough that he had to strain to hear.

Outside, the rain continued to fall. Sasuke thought of how his knuckles had slid against her spine, closed his hands, and pretended to sleep.

* * *

Later, when Kakashi’s hounds finally tracked them down, it was easy to pretend nothing had happened. Both his chakra and her wounds were recovering, and Naruto’s embellished story of how they’d defeated the bandits was a much-needed distraction.

Sasuke lingered back with Kakashi, eyes on his teammates, while Naruto asked Sakura about their side of the story. She smiled, tense lines and pinked ears, while Kakashi leaned into Sasuke, and said:

“You did a good job patching her up.”

Sasuke fell in the trap with a spectacular choking sound.

“Wh—how did you—” He went quiet, but it was too late. He had already given himself away.

Kakashi rose to full height, grinning through his mask. Sasuke wished he had just one more chidori in him.

“Underneath the underneath, Sasuke,” Kakashi said, shrugging. If possible, his smile widened. “But, in this case, you would know better than I would.”

Sasuke’s blood went cold, and then boiling. He thought of polka-dots, of thin meshes, of the way her stomach tightened when his arm guards brushed against her skin. The details were so clear; he was unsure if he’d activated the sharingan.

“That’s—that’s not—” he let out, through grit teeth that had nothing to do with the cold.

“What? What?” Naruto asked, from the front. His eyes were squinting, suspicious. “What’s going on over there, bastard?”

Sakura looked too. Their eyes met, and Sasuke’s face went hot as they both hurriedly looked somewhere else.

“It’s nothing, Naruto,” Kakashi said, heaving a tired sigh. “Just making sure my dear students are alright.”

Sakura was suspicious now, too, but she knew better than to ask. She just kept on walking forward, pulling Naruto by the arm.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Kakashi said, all traces of amusement gone from his voice.

Sasuke looked at him again, evaluating.

“Don’t be,” he said, keeping the smirk off his voice, and picked up the pace before Kakashi could reply.


End file.
